“Bastard,” Lord Flemington muttered, making a fist with his right hand and punching it into the palm of his left hand, an action that was observed by an approving Thora and had Garren drawing his brows together.
Clearing his throat loudly to recapture her attention, Garren continued. “It was now Marquis Brightington’s turn and he set his sights high—on Lady Thora. Instinct told me that when he announced a trip to the village, it was a ruse and I began to think of how easy it would be for him to make his and Viscount Simon-North’s presence known in the village. All they needed to do was visit a merchant or two, have a friendly chat at the village pub with a few locals, or stroll down the village streets being their charming selves with a few ladies. When that was done, Brightington would discreetly leave the village and ride back to the manor.”
“But no one saw him return,” Lord Flemington remarked.
“With a storm approaching, Brightington correctly assumed that everyone would be inside making it easy for him to slip back unseen,” Garren returned. “But let’s go back to this morning. Shortly after breakfast and prior to leaving for the village, Brightington sent Simon-North upstairs on the pretense of asking Lady Thora if there was anything she needed from the village, but his true purpose was to slip a note under her bedroom door. Knowing the ladies always change their gowns prior to the midday meal, he was certain she would find it. The printed note appeared to be from someone Lady Thora trusted, stated they had important information, and asked her to go to the boathouse.
“While Viscount Simon-North was performing this task, Brightington went to the stables and hid paraffin to ignite later after establishing his alibi in the village. Everyone saw the two men leave Mannington Manor and naturally assumed that they were in the village and would be there for some time. Once his alibi was secure with the villagers, Marquis Brightington discreetly left the village and rode back to the manor. He had timed it a few days earlier during his supposed wager with Simon-North. He waited out of sight, watching for Lady Thora to leave the manor. The moment he saw her, he set a fire in the stables, then rode down to the boathouse to wait for his victim.
“While everyone’s attention was on putting out the fire, no one would notice Lady Thora’s absence. He counted on the confusion to cover the fact that she was missing. After killing Lady Thora, he planned to return to the village, have dinner somewhere with Viscount Simon-North—again making sure they were noticed—and return together to the manor, both a picture of innocence, pretending to be shocked and outraged when they learned news of her death.”
Talk of her death gave Thora a chill. Noticing, Nyle wrapped a warm, protective arm around her as Garren went on.
“That was his plan, but Lord Somerville and I had a deception of our own. At breakfast, we mentioned that we were riding out to visit one of the estate’s tenants. Only a few days earlier I stated that a recent injury had limited my riding, so neither man would have suspected that Lord Somerville and I were going to follow them all the way to the village. The moment we saw them separate, we confronted Viscount Simon-North who, caught off guard, tried to make his escape. After a bit of persuasion,” he said with a grin, rubbing his bruised knuckles, “he confirmed what we suspected. Brightington had returned to Mannington Manor to kill his next victim, which he confessed to be Lady Thora.”
The room fell into shocked silence until Lord Langless gave a long low whistle before asking, “But why was Lord Somerville’s manservant killed?”
“Blackmail,” the inspector surmised. “The old boy must have known something.”
“Yes, Mercer knew something, but it wasn’t about blackmail,” Garren disagreed. “Mercer, who had spent most of his years in the service of such an honorable family as the Mannington’s, could not conceive that one of his master’s friends could be any less. He was troubled by something he saw or heard in the games room. My investigator, Mason, learned that the cook heard Mercer mumble something about ‘no brandy in the billiards room.’ Whatever bothered him he thought it could be easily explained, so he foolishly asked Marquis Brightington to meet with him to discuss it. A tragic and deadly mistake. We know Brightington murdered Mercer. He admitted it to Lady Thora, but as to the reason, I’ll leave that to you, Inspector Graham, to uncover it.”
Thora gave Garren a proud glance before turning to the inspector. “I can tell you,” she said. “Marquis Brightington confessed to me that when Mercer went to tidy the billiards room that night after everyone had gone to sleep, there were two empty glasses, which of course there should have been with two men playing billiards. But, having a fine nose for spirits, he discovered that both glasses had held wine and there was no brandy.”
Interrupting, the inspector asked, “Well what does that prove?”
“That,” Thora testily replied, annoyed by the inspector’s interruption, causing both Nyle and Garren to choke back a laugh, “proves that Mercer, who prided himself on remembering the favored spirit of every guest who visited the manor, knew that Marquis Brightington preferred wine while Viscount Simon-North drank only brandy. There should have been a glass for each, but the glasses he found had both contained wine, which he thought was odd. He also noticed that only one cue had been chalked.” Thora lowered her head. “Poor Mercer,” she murmured, her voice slightly cracking.
Nyle lowered his arm from around her shoulders and took her hand in his to give it a gentle, comforting squeeze as Garren resumed.
“When Mercer approached Marquis Brightington for what he thought a simple explanation, he sealed his death warrant. Charmingly polite, Brightington told the elderly man to meet him in his room after everyone retired. Knowing that the servant would use the back staircase, it was easy for Marquis Brightington to leave his room later that night when the house lights were lowered, hide in the shadows, and with a quick shove at the top of the stairs Mercer’s curiosity was eased forever.”
“But how did you and Nyle know where to find me when you came back to the manor?” Thora asked.
“One of the parlor maids saw you leave the manor and head in the direction of the boathouse.”
“Thank goodness.” Thora sighed.
Inwardly, Garren repeated her words. Silently, he thought he would have beaten the information of out of Simon-North.
“So,” the inspector said, “it was Brightington who attacked Lord Huntscliff’s so-called manservant.”
“No, Inspector,” Thora said, giving him a sheepish look. “I hit Mr. Greenstreet when he followed me into the boathouse. I mistakenly thought he was the murderer.”
The inspector scratched his head. “Why was he following you in the first place?”
“That was my doing, Inspector,” Garren explained. “As I told you and Lord Langless, Mason Greenstreet is not my servant. He’s a private investigator I commissioned to help me and Lord Mannington in protecting the house guests, and I had instructed him to keep an eye on Lady Thora, who I feared could be the next victim.” Inwardly, he added,
and who had the habit of taking far too many risks!
Goosebumps appeared on Thora’s arms as she realized how close she came to becoming that victim.
The inspector asked for a moment to jot some notes in his small book. While the inspector was writing, Garren went over to Nyle and whispered something in his ear.
Though she was sitting next to her brother, Thora couldn’t distinguish what Garren said. She watched as Nyle stood up and strode over to one of the constables and spoke to him in low tones. Nyle then left the room with the constable.
What was going on? She was about to ask Garren, who took a moment to pour himself some tea and settled into one of the armchairs to drink it, when the inspector took the chair Nyle had vacated and began to ask her questions concerning the statements Marquis Brightington had made in the boathouse. Much to her dismay, he wrote down her responses in his little book with the pace of a child first learning their letters. By the time she had answered the inspector’s last inquiry, she noticed that Nyle and the constable had returned and that the constable was carrying a box in his hand.
“Ah,” Garren said, seeing Nyle and the constable return. Rising from his chair and setting down his cup, he crossed over to the constable and took the box. Then, addressing Floris and Lauryn, he said, “Since the murderers have been caught, may I suggest that the police rattles that Lady Thora provided each of you with on the first day of your visit be returned to the authorities, whom I’m sure could put them to good use?”
“Oh yes,” Lauryn Mayfield said, reaching into her skirt pocket and withdrawing the rattle, which she placed inside the box Garren held out to her. “I almost hate to part with it. It did save me from that frightening spider,” she added with a giggle, giving Lord Flemington an appreciative glance.
Lady Floris also dropped her rattle into the box. Moving over to Thora, she looked up at him and said, “I don’t have mine. Marquis Brightington took it from me in the boathouse.”
Putting his hand in his pocket, he pulled out a rattle. “I know. I found it on the boathouse floor,” he said, dropping the rattle into the box. He peered down into the box and then lifted his eyes and said, “Three rattles, but there’s still one’s missing. Oh yes, Lady Cecilia Boothwell’s.”
“But . . .” Thora started, knowing that Cecilia’s rattle had already been returned to the police when the doctor found it in her skirt pocket, but she was quickly quieted when Garren leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I must ask you to remain silent unless you would like me to quiet you some other way.” He wore a smirk on his face and a devilish gleam in his eye.
Face pinking, Thora sealed her lips.
“Lady Cecilia Boothwell! I forgot about her,” Inspector Graham exclaimed. “Which one of the two did her in?”
“Neither Marquis Brightington or Viscount Simon-North had anything to do with Lady Cecilia’s death. Isn’t that right, Mr. Leedworthy?” Garren said, staring directly at the man.
All heads turned to Sandler Leedworthy.
“But I had nothing to do with Cecilia’s death!” a shocked Leedworthy protested as he jumped to his feet.
“I knew it!” Lord Langless angrily bellowed. “I was right in denying you the honor of courting my Floris.”
Garren motioned for Lord Langless to quiet himself and then turned back to Leedwothy. “Then can you explain how this rattle was found in your room by Lord Somerville and the constable when they searched your room a few moments ago?”
“I don’t know how the bloody thing got there,” Leedworthy vented angrily. “That rattle can’t be Cecilia’s,” Floris suddenly gushed. “She never used it that night!”
Garren left Leedworthy and turned on Floris with the sharpness of a cobra ready to strike. “The only people who could know that are the doctor who examined her and Lady Thora, who saw the doctor return it to the constable that night. The only way you could have known it wasn’t Lady Cecilia’s is if you were with her on the night she died. You put out the torches so that no one would see you take Lady Cecilia aside. You took her to the pond, didn’t you, Lady Floris?”
Floris looked round the room. Everyone was staring at her. Her parents were in the state of shock. Her lips moved but they made no sound. Tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. It was . . . it was just that she said such awful things.” Her eyes traveled to Sandler Leedworthy. “She said I’d never have you . . . that you would always belong to her. I was angry and I pushed her and started to leave. I didn’t even realize she hit her head on one of the stone dolphins until I heard the splash and saw the blood on her head.” Burying her face in her hands, Floris sobbed heavily.
“It was the splash and not champagne as you told Lady Thora that wet your skirts and had you so upset that she had to assist you to your room to help you change,” Garren ascertained.
Floris, sobbing and unable to speak, nodded.
Sandler Leedworthy rushed to kneel at her side. “Please don’t cry, Floris. I understand. I know you didn’t mean it,” he softly comforted.
Lady Langless joined the young man and wrapped her arms around her daughter while Lord Langless looked too stunned to move. When he did rise from his chair, Lord Langless moved over to Leedworthy and placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I knew about your affair with Cecilia. When she turned up dead, I thought it was you. I was fearful. I didn’t want you to have anything to do with Floris, and here I find it was my own . . .”
Garren reached over and placed his hand on the older man’s arm to silence him. “Floris didn’t meet Lady Cecilia with the intention to do her harm. She just wanted to talk to her. It was an accident, nothing more. Don’t you agree, Inspector Graham?”
“Without malice, no murder,” the inspector said flatly but added that he would still have to ask Lady Floris to come down to the station house to sign a written statement.
“May I go with her?” Sandler Leedworthy asked, looking not at Inspector Graham but Lord Langless.
“Yes,” Lord Langless said, his face guilt-ridden. “And I’m sorry for having misjudged you. You can accompany Floris in our carriage with me and my wife.”
Garren stole a look at Thora, who seemed to be as shamefaced as Lord Langless. She, too, had accused Leedworthy of murdering Cecilia the night of the concert. Her eyes found his and he could tell they had a question. “Something puzzling you, Lady Thora?”
“But if the rattle was found in Leedworthy’s room, how did it get there and who does it belong to?” she asked.
“It belongs to Mason, a keepsake from his early years as a constable before he became a private investigator,” Garren answered. “I put it in Leedworthy’s room just before coming downstairs. Accusing Leedworthy was the only way to get Lady Floris to admit the truth, which I’m certain she would have done eventually.”
“I guess that about wraps everything up, Lord Somerville. You and Lord Huntscliff have been most helpful,” Inspector Graham said. Turning to his constable, he ordered the man to get their prisoners ready.
Helpful, Thora thought, objecting to the word. Garren had not only solved the case but handed it to the inspector wrapped up neatly without a single loose end.
Garren started to move toward Thora but Lauryn and Lord Flemington were both by her chair, suggesting she go upstairs to rest.
“Lady Thora, you should have a lie down. I can’t imagine the fright Marquis Brightington must have given you,” Flemington said.
It annoyed Garren that the man stole the words he had wanted to say.
“I think you’re right, Lord Flemington. I have had a most trying day,” Thora said, rising and taking his offered arm.
Garren followed them as they exited into the center hall.